Walking Away
by silverducks
Summary: My interpretation of Matthew's thoughts as he walks away from Mary at the garden party in episode 7. Chapter 2 is Mary's thoughts.
1. Chapter 1

_This is my offering for this week's M/M Monday Madness, an LJ community where Mary and Matthew shippers contribute new fan work for our favourite Downton Abbey ship every Monday. (You can find us on LJ and the links in my profile!). However, LJ has decided to not be working at present, so my offering for this week is being posted here instead.  
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_So here's a little ficlet set immediately after the scene between Mary and Matthew at the garden party in episode 7. _

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><p>As Matthew walked away from Mary, he forced himself to not look back, to not turn around and see her. He was afraid of what he would find if he did. Would she be sad, crying perhaps? And if she was, would that be due to her sadness over him, or her sadness at losing her future position as the Countess of Grantham? Would she just look disappointed at letting the future earl get away? Perhaps she wouldn't be showing any emotion at all, something he'd long ago learnt was a skill of Mary's. And if so, what could he think then? That she simply didn't care enough? That she was just hiding it all away beneath her cold façade? Matthew knew he wouldn't know what to think, whatever her reaction, but worse than that, he was afraid if he did turn around and see her, he would lose his nerve. He was afraid he would give in to his fierce desire to go back to her, talk to her and try to make amends. And he couldn't let that happen, he couldn't let himself give in. He had to be strong, for her sake as well as his. For if he did give in, if he did marry her, what then? How could he live with the constant doubts and insecurities that she only married him for his future title and wealth? What sort of marriage would that be?<p>

He couldn't hate her though, how could he when her only fault was that she wasn't sure, didn't know if she cared enough about him to live without the money and comfort she was used to. It angered him, of course, frustrated him and pained him like nothing he thought ever could, but he could not hate her. He loved her too much for that, understood her too well. Perhaps in time he'd learn to hate her, as his anger and frustration turned to bitterness, as he started to resent her for caring so much for such material things, for putting them above her love for him. That was if she even did love him, something he'd been growing less and less sure of with each passing day, waiting for her answer. He had been so certain of it before, when she'd first kissed him, when she'd given consideration to his proposal and promised him an answer after her trip to London. Now he couldn't be sure, didn't know if her love was simply not enough, if she only thought herself in love. Perhaps she had even faked her interest in him, wanting to secure herself the future position of Countess of Grantham. He couldn't be sure and knew he never would, which is why he couldn't marry her, why he had to leave her and leave Downton. Why he had to make himself wake up from this strange dream and return to reality, to his old life in Manchester.

And so he forced himself to not look back, to put one foot in front of the other as he sulked away. He kept his footsteps fast and determined, anxious to increase the distant between them as much as possible, anxious that he should not give in to temptation and turn back towards her. Instead he looked up at the house, the magnificent and awe inspiring Downton Abbey, which would one day be his. He doubted he'd ever call it home though, not like his house in Manchester and even like Crawley House. Not somewhere so grand and splendid, so steeped in a past and traditions that weren't his. Not when the house never truly belonged to him, but to her. If she's been by his side, maybe then he could have called it home one day. Maybe with the rightful heir sharing in his inheritance, walking within the walls of her childhood, her family home, maybe then it would have been a place he could call _his_ home.

He shook his head sharply and looked away from the house. There was no use thinking of things like that, not any more. They'd both made their decisions and he could not let himself regret his own. He would be back, one day, there was no getting around that, but for now moving back to Manchester was the best thing for all of them. Moving away from her, from this place where he'd never really belonged, where he never would belong. Yes, he thought to himself, it was the right decision and he would not change it, no matter what happened. He forced the thought home with every determined step he took away from her. He had to get away from Downton and away from her, away from the memories that both twisted his heart and brought it joy. Maybe he would never see her again. Perhaps when he was forced to return, when his destiny came calling, she'd already have left, married off to someone with a less precarious position, a higher title and greater wealth. He wished the best for her, of course, he loved her too much to want to see her sad. So he hoped that the man she did end up marrying would make her happy, that the comfort of money and position would keep her content and that she would not regret her own decisions. Yes, he wanted her to be happy and with him she could never be, for he could never be happy with a wife who plagued him with doubts about her regard, who did not feel for him the deep and aching love he felt for her.

And so he would leave Downton, as soon as he was able, he would talk to the earl about it tonight and start making plans tomorrow, for the sooner he got away from Downton, from her, the sooner his old life could begin again. He quicken his footsteps as he walked further away from Mary, the thoughts spinning around his mind as he ignored the conversation and the music that flitted through the air. He ignored the odd looks of the guests as they saw his scowl and angry footsteps and he ignored the servants who were milling about offering food and fine wine to the guests. For it only increased Matthew's resolve and his sense of detachment, of loneliness and frustration. He didn't belong here, in this world and he knew he never would. And as such, he knew he'd never belong to her, that she would never be his and the sooner she was out of his sight, he hoped, the sooner she'd be out of his thoughts and his heart.

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><p><em>I hope you liked it. I may, in future, write another one from Mary's point of view, but we'll have to wait and see. <em>


	2. Chapter 2

_This is the end of the same scene (Mary and Matthew at the garden party in episode 7), but this time from Mary's point of view. Written for the M/M Monday Madness Community at Live Journal (link in my profile)._

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><p>As Mary watched Matthew walk away from her, she felt numb, empty, blank. She couldn't quite take it in; that Matthew had withdrawn his proposal, that he was leaving Downton, that he was leaving <em>her<em>. It all seemed so strange, so unreal, almost like a dream, but as his footsteps took him further away, feelings and emotions and thoughts started to creep back into her perception. He was leaving her, leaving Downton because he couldn't bear to stay any more, because she had hurt him too much with her delays.

She wanted to run after him then, to grab his arm, spin him around and pour out her heart and soul to him. To tell him the real reason why she'd delayed, that it wasn't really because of the uncertainty of his future prospects, that it wasn't because he may just have ended up being a country solicitor; but because of her own shame, her own scandal. But that thought stopped her in her tracks, for how could she tell him that? When she'd spent the last two months since his marriage proposal, since she realised how much she loved him, trying to do just that.

The number of times the hypothetical conversation had plagued her thoughts, stopping her sleeping at night and leaving her distracted during the day, even when she was away from him in London. No matter how many times she'd tried to think of how to tell him, no matter what words she used or what setting she chose, the outcome was always the same. In her mind Matthew would always look at her with disappointment, with hurt and betrayal. Sometimes it was accompanied by anger, hatred, sometimes he even understood, but always he would leave her, withdraw his proposal and his regard for her. And so whenever she'd tried to tell him, whenever she'd tried to force the words from her lips, this face would haunt her vision and her courage would fail her; the confession burning on her tongue and chocking her throat.

And so he did not understand, how could he? How could he know the reasons why she clammed up around him, why she couldn't speak her mind, speak her heart. The real reason why she had delayed in accepting his proposal. Yes, she couldn't deny that the uncertainty of his inheritance had played a part, that it had put doubts in her mind and furthered her delay, but it was her own shame that stood in her way. Her own lack of virtue that denied her the ability to accept him. For the doubts about his position were surmountable, his reaction to her shame was insupportable and she knew she could never find the courage to face it.

And so she had no choice but to let him walk away, watching him stride across the lawn like the earl he would one day be, his footsteps so hard, so determined. She had heard the pain in his voice, saw his heartbreak in his face and the struggle in his eyes. That Matthew should hurt at all pained her deeply, but the fact that she was the cause made it unbearable; his pain became hers and it mixed with her own pain. Her pain over him refusing her, over him leaving Downton, over him giving up on her. It was all too much to bear and the tightness that had gradually crushed her heart over the last few weeks, months even, became too much. It was all too much; her mother's pregnancy, the conflicting words of her family, the death of her unborn brother and her parents sorrow… It all collided and split her heart in two, forcing tears from her eyes she could not fight, tears so rarely did she ever let fall, let alone in public like this, in her parent's garden and at their summer party.

She squeezed her eyes shut to try to fight them, to fight the blinding pain in her head made worse by the glaring sunshine and the distant merriment. It did no good, so she tried to hide them, covering her lace gloved hands over her eyes in a feeble attempt to push the tears back, to hide them from sight, from memory. But still they did not stop, the sobs were being ripped from her very heart and soul, pouring out her anguish and pain as it all crashed over her in that moment. That had been building and intensifying over the last few weeks, months even, reaching back to that night… That night when her whole world had fallen around her, when her life had changed irrevocably into a nightmare, when she'd let that dastardly Turk steal her virtue. She remembered how she'd mourned for him, somehow thinking that she had cared for him, that there had been something more between them. But she knew how stupid those thoughts were now. Her attraction to Kemal was nothing in comparison to this, to what she felt for Matthew, how he filled her heart and soul, her every waking breathe nearly and every beat of her heart. And now that heart was broken and she was left with the almost unbearable knowledge of just how much she did love Matthew. It had taken her so long to realise it, but now that she had lost him, she finally realised just how important he was to her, how much she needed him in her life.

She hadn't really understood love before, had scoffed at the mere idea of it. Even when she realised she did love Matthew after he'd proposed, she still did not fully comprehend it. Now she realised just what _love_ _itself_ meant, how powerful it could be, bringing such great joy and even deeper sorrow, how it had the power to ruin lives and shatter hearts and how excruciatingly painful love found and then lost could really be. She remembered then, those harsh yet powerful words Matthew had asked of her, in this very same place just a few weeks ago. _"Do you love me enough to spend your life with me."_ She'd wanted to say yes then, to accept him right then and there and finally become his, but she couldn't, not with the guillotine of Pamuk hanging over them, ready to fall and cut both their hearts in two. And oh, how those words had haunted her! And what Matthew must think of her inability to answer them! But now, as she watched him walk away, the words took on a whole new meaning. She didn't just love him enough, she _needed_ him, needed to spend her life with him, but now she couldn't, it was too late. He was leaving and she knew there was nothing she could do to stop him.

It's your own fault, Mary told herself fiercely, it's all your own stupid, stupid fault. She repeated the words in her mind, trying to work up some anger, some frustration, bitterness at herself, trying to find a way to push away this pain, this sadness. It was no use; the words just brought deeper sobs from her heart and wrought greater tears from her eyes. Until her every sense, her every thought and feeling was centred into the pain and sadness of losing him, of seeing the disappointment in his eyes anyway and of knowing how much pain she'd caused him.

She wasn't sure how much time passed then, as she stood their crying out her hurt and pain which she'd kept so deeply buried, ever since that night of the hunt. It was only when the words of the butler broke through into her misery that she came aware of reality again. She did her best to quickly dry her eyes and then drop her hands, knowing there was little use in hiding her sadness, but the action was reflexive and the normalcy of it was a small comfort all the same.

"Are you quite well, my lady?" His voice was so soft, so kind and gentle. Just like Matthew's had been, when he'd wished her well, still wanting her to be happy after all she'd put him through. Still so kind and gentle that even as she'd snapped his heart in two he'd thought of her. He was too good for her, even without his future wealth and position, too good for her by far. She didn't deserve him, she didn't deserve his regard or his kindness, she only deserved scorn, hate, ridicule, punishment for her crimes and her selfishness.

She was aware that Carson was still watching her, waiting for her response and she tried to focus on reality enough to think of one. "Of course," she answered quickly, "you know me, Carson, I'm never down for long." No, she never usually was, she usually pushed the pain and sorrow away and, as her mother always said, things would always look better in the morning. She doubted the wisdom in her words and her mother's now though; she doubted things would ever look better again for a long, long time. The thought only brought more tears to her eyes and she didn't try to hide them this time. What did it matter, what did anything matter now that she'd lost Matthew and smashed both of their hearts into pieces?

"I know you have spirit my Lady, that's what counts. That's all that counts in the end."

Spirit! Mary wanted to scoff at the very word, but the pain and the sadness that besieged her heart made such trivial things like scoffing and disagreeing impossible. What did spirit matter? Spirit had only gotten her into this mess, the spirit which had attracted Pamuk, which had made her fight her feelings for Matthew for so long. Her spirit which made her too proud to confess her shame and tell Matthew she loved him, to accept his precarious future and say yes when she'd had the chance. Yes, perhaps spirit _did_ count, but only in bringing about her misery and desolation and ruining the happiness of everyone around her. For though Matthew had not admitted to it, she _had_ ruined everything and she did not deserve this kindness from the butler, from anyone and certainly never from _him_. Still, as Carson wrapped his arms around her in an embrace, the comfort it brought was too much for her to fight. She didn't deserve it, but she let herself rest her head against Carson's shoulder anyway and poured out all her tears.


End file.
